


Darts of Pleasure (A Shade's Journal)

by Devilc



Category: DCU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Shade meets Owen in a bar and they bond over darts and the fact that they really don't give a damn what others think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darts of Pleasure (A Shade's Journal)

**Author's Note:**

> These are two of my favorite characters in the DCU and they've been largely forgotten in the past 12 months. Continuity? Set post _52_ and post _Outsiders_. Please don't rag me on the finer points of Owen's recent continuity, because I haven't read _Countdown_ or any of the tie-ins, and last I heard, Owen was working with the Suicide Squad and ... I'm really hoping he'll show up as a member of the Sinister Six at some point. (I think he and Catman would get on like a house on fire.)

As any true citizen of the world does, I eventually found myself back in New York City. Eventually, I shall make my way back to Opal for good, but from what the O'Dares tell me, there's still a great swath of damage cutting its way through the heart of the city and I shan't return until that gaping wound has healed, for it pains me deeply to see it.

His hair first caught my attention. A unique new penny red with a bronze undernote. His eyes came next  large, expressive hazel-green flecked with amber. But it was the sheer-devil-may-care attitude that he exuded: the grin, the slightly scruffy goatee, the rakish upturned collar that kept my attention and drew me to him.

That, and I love a good game of darts. It's been several years since I've encountered anybody who could not only challenge me, but actually best me.

For the next three nights running, we played  friendly, but fierce competition.

Unlike Jack, he was not a cultured lover of the arts. Indeed, everything about him spoke of the typical mediocre American education. But, despite his youth, his rakish air had a certain seasoning to it. It wasn't all bluff and bluster. Half-educated Owen Mercer might be, but time spent with him reveals that he's a man of a certain kind of substance. He ribbed me good naturedly about my "goth" clothing. (No, I was not in my usual attire, just trousers, shirt, and a brocade vest.) And it certainly didn't hurt that Owen reminded me of several friends from my adventures in the American West. Indeed, he would have fit right in with the Wild Bunch.

As last rounds were called, he asked me if I cared to grab a cup of coffee the next evening. "Not that meeting you for another great game of darts isn't cool and all, if you want to  it's not often I get somebody who can play at my level  but how about something different?"

I assured him that coffee was just fine.

~oo(0)oo~

"Y'know, for a guy who's not much older than me, you've got some seriously old eyes," Owen said as he leaned forward in a somewhat confidential manner.

I took a swallow of my Darjeeling. "Thank you ... I think."

His voice dropped a bit and he swirled his hand idly around the rim of his cup. "I find it kind of hot, actually."

Oh-ho! A **bold** one.

I leaned forward and asked in my archest manner, "Is this going where I think it might be going?"

He paused a moment. "I don't know. Any suggestions?" That last bit being asked with a twinkle in his eye.

I chose not to mince words. "How about back to your place?"

Owen blinked, then shot to his feet. "I don't need to be asked twice."

~oo(0)oo~

I imagine that his apartment was fairly typical for the working-class in New York. The building was a bit worn around the edges and the place itself was ... cozy ... at 500 sq/ft. I daresay, though, in the days of my youth in London, an entire family would have occupied it, and been glad for its spaciousness.

As we entered, he threw the dead-bolt and two latches and spun me 'round, pinning me against the wall before I could react.

(So sudden and unexpected it was that I nearly unleashed my shadows.)

"I like to get fucked," he whispered, mouth scant inches from mine. "Hard."

"I can oblige," I replied smiling darkly.

"Good."

And then he kissed me.

That's when I felt **it**.

It's not as if I've previously had intimate contact with a speedster. Skin to skin contact, yes; a simple handshake is all it takes. While it wasn't particularly strong in Owen, I know Speed when I feel it.

"There's something about you, Louis," he said when we broke for air. (I'd given him the name of Louis Black.)

I threw my head back and laughed, for I've no idea if Speedsters can feel my Shadow the way I sense their gifts, or if something else entirely moved him. "I can say the same about you, delightful boy." (We'd established that I was older than I looked  nothing specific, of course  and aging like a fine wine. And since Owen enjoyed the idea of an older partner, I played to it.)

He chortled and replied, "Yeah, there's a bit more to me than meets the eye."

"Speaking of which," I said and reached for the tail of his shirt.

We left a trail of clothes from the front room to the bed room.

~oo(0)oo~

I _do not _kiss and tell, but I must say that Owen did not disappoint, being a most ardent and enthusiastic lover. Whatever he may have lacked in kink or technique, he more than made up for in zeal.

And, he would have happily gone a third round but for the fact that I refused, knowing that he would regret it in the morning. He may prefer a good hard buggering, but few men say no to an offer of fellatio.

~oo(0)oo~

There are ways to wake up, and then there are ways _not_ to wake up.

Waking up to discover a caped and cowled interloper looming over you in the bedchamber?

Could have very well proven fatal to the interloper, but for the fact that I recognized him as the Batman. Jack has had several things to say about Gotham's protector  a few of them were even compliments.

I confess I could not resist the chance for a bit of fun.

"Owen," I whispered, gently nudging him, rousing him from sated slumber. "You have an uninvited guest."

He flailed, turned on the bedside lamp, and blushed so hard I think he nearly perished from mortification.

Completely ignoring the interloper I said to Owen, voice light and casual, "I had no idea you did something interesting for a living." Owen sputtered, but could not string together a coherent statement, so I let him off the hook. "White hat or black hat?" I asked.

"Checkered past," he groaned as he sat up, burying his head in his hands. "What do you want?" He addressed the Batman.

I shushed him with my hands as I sat up. "Don't worry about him, dear boy. He can wait a moment longer. In the meantime, I'd like to know just who I've gotten in bed with."

"The current Captain Boomerang." The Batman had voice like a drill bit.

I arched an eyebrow. "Oh, _a Rogue_." I gave Owen a jovial grin. "I knew I liked you."

"Reformed," Owen said with a heavy sigh. "It's ... complicated."

"It always is," I quipped back.

"Perhaps," our interloper cut in, "Owen should know who _he's_ gotten in to bed with."

"Capital idea," I said with false cheeriness. I then dropped my voice. "_Perhaps I should give a demonstration_."

**He** paused.

Good to know he wasn't so full of himself as to be entirely stupid.

Fixing him with a penetrating glare, I continued, "Perhaps you ought to step in to the front room and Owen will join you presently. You're ... surplus to the requirements of the situation."

The Batman did as suggested.

"Who are you?" Owen whispered as soon as the door closed, eyes wide with something between wonder and apprehension.

I smiled warmly at Owen. "A reformed rogue with a checkered past, not entirely unlike yourself. I'll be in touch," I said as I made a door of shadows and stepped through.

And now, time to call on a few old friends and find out more about the new Captain, I think.


End file.
